


Upper Hand

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-29
Updated: 2004-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gapfiller for season one, episode five. Brian and Emmett remember their first encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upper Hand

The diner bustled around us, full of the pre-club crowd talking around mouthfuls of their specials, already tweaked out on their drug of choice, their voices seeming to echo in the small space. Someone off to my right was recounting his latest adventure at Meathook and I was almost tempted to tear myself away from my conversation to join him, but I was stretched out lazily in my corner of the booth and I couldn’t be bothered to move.

After I finished my dinner I told the guys about my latest client; how I was expected to entertain some elderly straight guy. No one seemed particularly interested except Mikey, who was probably just acting that way to humor me anyway. Ted was studying his plate like he was going to find the cure for cancer in the remains of his tuna on white, no mayo, and only looked up once to parry a few insults with me, and Emmett was trying to get a spot of mustard off of his ugly purple shirt.

Ted was the first to bail, claiming that Babylon was no longer a "deductable expense" and I just rolled my eyes, chewing on my toothpick, my arm slung along the back of the booth.

Mikey was next, stating that he had to go back to the store for inventory. After I properly grilled him on the Tracy situation, it was down to just me and Emmett.

I slapped the back of his neck, watching Mikey push open the glass door and disappear onto the sidewalk.

"Don’t touch me," Emmett said, his hand pausing over his chest, his eyes narrowing.

I grinned to myself and looked over in time to catch him grimace. He and Theodore always acted like they weren’t impressed by me at all. I never believed Theodore, but most of the time Emmett put on a pretty convincing act. I was bored enough, and just wired enough from the sugary blue thing that Michael had ordered for me while I was in the bathroom, to want to make him squirm, maybe drop that well-rehearsed act for a minute or two.

"I remember a time when you didn’t mind it all that much," I said, leaning close and talking into his ear.

Emmett pulled away and looked around the diner to make sure no one heard me. "Jesus Brian," he hissed, slanting me a glance. "You make it sound like we had some clandestine affair."

I snorted. "It certainly wasn’t clandestine."

Emmett shifted uncomfortably on the cracked vinyl of the diner booth seat, still checking to make sure people weren’t listening. "And I’d hardly call one fuck in the backroom an affair," he said, raising his eyebrows briefly before refocusing on the spot on his sweater.

I shrugged the shoulder closest to him, nudging him slightly and he tilted his head at me. I smirked, curving the arm that was stretched atop the booth around his shoulder. The eye-roll I received that time was slightly less annoyed and even bordered on affection and we both grinned a little.

"It was hot though, wasn’t it?" he asked, his voice still low.

I tilted my head and arched a brow. "Except for those damn ugly pants."

He chuckled briefly, and I felt the rumble against my forearm. "Those pants were not that ugly!"

"Emmett, please, they were tangerine and some hybrid of latex and spandex and if I remember correctly, they glittered." I hardly ever remembered tricks, but since Emmett ended up being Mikey’s roommate and my, well, my friend against my better judgement, I had always been able to recall bits and snatches of that night.

He wrinkled up his nose, thinking, before he burst out into laughter. "Oh god, they did glitter!" He looked wistful for a moment. "I wonder if I still have those." I made a noise in the back of my throat that I hope conveyed my utter disgust and he smiled. "Like the pants mattered anyway. They were around my ankles a mere hour after I walked in the door."

"I think, and mind you I had been sampling some of Anita's finest that night so my memory isn’t the clearest, that I complained about the glare at one point." I could see it in my head, the pants reflecting even the dim lighting in the backroom, hurting my tired, bloodshot eyes.

"Off of my pants?" He bit his lip. "You did. Right when you were ..." he trailed off and the amusement faded from his face, leaving him looking uncomfortable again.

"When I was what?" I prodded, and he looked around the diner again. He cast a glance at the counter and I took the opportunity to put my mouth to his ear. "When I was pushing into you?"

He didn’t turn his head, and his hand stilled over his chest.

"Do you remember that part, Emmett? When I had you face first against the wall in the backroom, and everyone was moaning and groaning around us and the first time I thrust in I think you might have squealed."

"I did not squeal," he protested, but it was weak, and his voice was huskier than usual. "I don’t squeal." I slid a little closer in the booth. I was starting to enjoy this quite a bit. His façade was dropping quicker than his pants had that night, and it really was fun to watch.

"I think you did squeal then. Just a little. But only once. Because when I really got going, fucking you so hard you probably felt it for days, you were gasping and panting instead." I had a flash of that too. He’d actually made pretty hot noises when I was inside of him. "At one point you were even begging."

He gulped, trying to hide the bobbing of his Adam’s apple with his napkin. "W-was I?"

"You were. You were begging, so I reached around and I grabbed your cock and I was jerking you off while I fucked you, because you had to use both of your hands just to keep yourself from collapsing to the ground." I had a brief thought about how, in the years since then, I’d never really equated that guy with Emmett. I knew they were the same person, I’d just never overlapped them in my head until that moment.

I grinned against his skin when his hand dropped to the table and thought that this might be the most fun I’d had in awhile. Then I heard the snap of gum and the tapping of fingertips on table top and I looked up from the crook of Emmett’s neck.

"Can I take your plates?" Debbie asked, wagging her head and scowling a little.

I grinned cheekily, resting my jaw against the roughness of Emmett’s cheap polo and blinking innocently up at her. "Why, of course Debbie, thanks."

She looked down at Emmett. "You alright honey?"

"Who, me?" he squeaked, and my grin got wider. "Oh no, no. I’m fine. Peachy keen." He ducked his shoulders to escape my arm and got to his feet. "I just need to hit the little boy’s room."

I leaned back and stuck the toothpick back in my mouth, watching him hurry towards the back of the diner. I almost laughed until I saw the look on Deb’s face.

"What were you doing to Emmett? He looked damned uncomfortable."

"Probably from the raging hard-on," I said, nodding sagely.

"Were you hitting on him?" Deb asked, her face harsh and her hand on her hip.

"Oh relax," I said, moving along the seat and standing up beside her. "Emmett’s a big boy, he can handle himself."

"That’s right."

I turned to see Emmett standing near the cash register, shoulders squared.

"That was quick," I said brightly, using my tongue to wiggle the toothpick at him.

He ignored me and came forward to peck Debbie’s cheek. "And I can handle him, too." He returned her disbelieving stare with a smile, then turned to me. "So, Brian, are we going to Woody's or what?"

I pressed my lips together and nodded. Debbie gave me another warning glare before she went back to her customers, and Emmett held the door open for me to pass by.

We walked in silence for a little while, then right before we reached the front steps of Woody's Emmett stopped and grabbed my arm, swinging me to face him.

"I just want you to know, Brian, that I wasn’t particularly amused by whatever little game you were playing in the diner." I pushed my tongue into my cheek and he held up a hand. "Save the sarcastic remarks. Dirty talk, no matter who it’s from, gets me every time. So don’t flatter yourself." He dropped his arm and smoothed his shirt. "I just wanted to remind you of something."

"Oh, and what’s that?" I smacked my lips to illustrate my disinterest, but I couldn't keep the surprise at bay when he stepped closer and put his face inches from mine.

"After you fucked me in the backroom, you let me suck you off. I must’ve spent five minutes on each of your balls before I even touched your dick with my tongue, and when I was deep-throating you, you were begging too. You were pleading with me to finish you off, to let you come." His voice dropped to a raspy whisper at the end of his sentence, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"And?" I asked, straightening my expresion. I’d forgotten about that until now.

"I just wanted to make sure you remembered all that." He stepped away and I saw him glance at my crotch, and fuck, I was hard. Dirty talk had always done it for me, too. "Just so you don’t think you had the upper hand. I may have been new in town, but inexperienced I was not."

He flashed me a sunny smile and practically pranced on down the sidewalk. I sneered at his retreating back before loping to catch up to him.


End file.
